Androgynous Dreams...There is a box under my bed. It's about 3'l, 1'w,& 1'd with a clear cellophane window on the cover and a red ribbon tied with curled flourish. It resembles the boxes that hold collector series porcelain dolls. This box holds My Doll.

At night, I slide the box out and wipe away any offending dust with a white handkerchief. I gaze at the object that lies under the thin plastic. My face is smeared in reflection, like icing over the Doll underneath. Our faces almost seem to mold for an instant.

I pull white cotton gloves onto my thin hands and fan my fingers in anticipation. I carefully remove the red ribbon and place it on the side. I lift the cover and barely breathe. My hands cradle the Doll's head and body while lifting it out. I place it on my bed, and with a kiss, it begins to swell. A plastic, blow up doll puffing up, filling into flesh. I'm talking to it as it grows, as it becomes. I talk to it as if I am singing a nursery rhyme. Cooing it into existence, conjuring it into breath. The color hair, eyes, shape of lips: I sing its definition.

My last verse gives it Gender.

What playmate will I take tonight...Boy, Girl, Girlie Boy, Boi..a bit of everything and everyone?

This was a fantasy reel I used to play over and over under my eyelids as mind-pornography. Inspired by readings of Ursula K. Le Guin. The Doll was an androgynous playmate who could bend into one gender or another or even take on mixed parts like a sexual Mr. Potato Head. Diane Arbus stated that "All gender is Drag." I bow to that statement and the commentator. After all the serious studying and analyzing of Gender Roles, I'd like to add, "And it's all FABulous!" while clapping my hands like a little girl and getting ready to dress her Doll.

During my junior year of high school, I dated a tall, lithe Chinese boy from another school. He was so delicate and beautiful; a Goth boy who swooned to Morrissey. His hair was half the length of my own, draped to his chin. When I kissed him, he closed his eyes as I openly stared, wishing my lashes would latch onto his and pry his eyes open.

I grabbed his hair and slapped his cheek lightly. "You kiss like a girl." I bullied him into wearing my silky lingerie. I stained his lips with a hard lipsticked kiss. He protested and blushed. Shook off an embarrassed laugh. When he looked into the mirror, his eyes widened with shame until he glanced back and understood that I was not smiling with vicious teasing, but encouragement.